


come a little closer

by xylomylo



Category: Oh My Girl (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylomylo/pseuds/xylomylo
Summary: She gives in, slowly. Whispers goodnight, like she’d used to all the time back in the dorms, and dreams of a cozy apartment that she will one day call hers, with a huge ass teddy bear that looks strangely just like the one Hyojung has.or: the one where Seunghee tries to deal with Hyojung moving out.
Relationships: Choi Hyojung/Hyun Seunghee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	come a little closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonrise31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonrise31/gifts).



> happy birthday ao3 / twt user moonrise31!! thank u for bearing 99% of the brunt of my rapid descent into omg and dealing with me and my shit 24/7. always grateful for u and thankful to have met u!!! :> may u have only the best.
> 
> title from the terribly underrated omg title closer!!
> 
> //an: this was born from the on and off preview and seunghee LOOKED SO SAD...and then now its totally useless because they've all moved out djfgkdfjgdkgjl but yes the hyoj/seunghee dynamic is so interesting and i am obsessed thank u for coming to my ted talk.
> 
> edit: took this off anon because the birthday girl said so..i am terrified pls look away

/

  
  
  


“I think I’m moving out.”

It comes out of the blue one day, just as she’s getting ready for bed. The lights are already off, and some of the sleepiness that was previously sitting on her eyelids disappear, in a soft awakening. 

“Oh,” Seunghee says. Kicks her covers off just a little. It’s suddenly uncomfortable. “That’s great, unnie. Have you found a place?” In the cover of the night, she hopes her shock doesn’t show. 

But this is the natural course of things: Seunghee knows they can’t possibly live in this shitty dorm for the rest of their lives. The flooring of the kitchen is still loose, from that one incident no one talks about, and frankly speaking, they’re at the age where they need their own personal space. She understands.

“No.” The reply from the lower bunk is hoarse. Hyojung is tired. They’re all tired, running from schedule to schedule for five years now, and it doesn’t get any easier. “It’s just a thought, but I think I’ll do it after this comeback.” The end of the sentence is quieter, and this is how Seunghee knows the older girl is right on the cusp of sleep. 

Or maybe, she just doesn’t want to talk about it now.

“Goodnight,” Seunghee whispers. Stares at the numbers on her phone — she has three hours to sleep before their insane call time — and forces her eyes shut. Shakes her head. This will be a conversation for later, when they’re both awake.

She eventually falls asleep to the quiet snores that echo softly around the room, like she has been, for the past few months.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The emptiness is still there. Seunghee thinks she gets used to it, as the days pass. There’s more time for herself, and as much as she would prefer being engaged in nonsensical conversations, being left to her own thoughts is unexpectedly healing.

Today, she doesn’t turn on VLive. Instead, she tunes in to Hyojung’s radio show, because it makes her feel like the older girl is still there, somehow, lying spread-eagle on the lower bunk, mindlessly muttering about a new recipe she’s going to try cooking tomorrow. It’s stupid, because they’ll all meet for practice tomorrow at the company anyway, but it is a small comfort she takes, and clutches close to her chest. Lets it warm the ice cold loneliness that has no place being there, because who is she to object to something they will all eventually do?

Hyojung’s DJ voice is a tad higher than her usual. She’s reading out comments left by listeners, and Seunghee briefly contemplates leaving one. But she wouldn’t know what to say, that would reflect her current state of mind or her completely irrational longing— 

“I like the Elle photos a lot,” the older girl narrates. “Did you save any of them?” She laughs. Answers without missing a beat. “Of course I did.”

Seunghee smiles. Hyojung’s laughter is always infectious. She thinks of the photoshoot, under the hot afternoon sun; the two of them lying on the grass, laughing away at something Yoobin had said — then Hyojung, in her orange shirt, beaming at her like everything is right in the world— 

“I saved them too. I like the photos that I took with Seunghee a lot,” Hyojung continues. “She was so pretty that day! Like a doll.” She giggles. “A blonde with oriental eyes. A lot of people praised her that day.” 

She swallows. Feels her eyes water unnecessarily at the unexpected praise. Hyojung moves on to read other comments, because a radio broadcast is always time sensitive, and none of them register, or stick to Seunghee’s ears. Her finger taps out of the radio app, and into her photo gallery. Searches for the photos that she, too, saved, because they all looked so pretty. 

She stares at her screen. There’s Hyojung, lying on her lap, with a book on her chest, looking her happiest. The smile she always gives, so easily, be it to the part-time worker at the convenience store during their midnight snack runs, or the  _ ajumma _ who runs the twenty-four hour _ ddeokbokki _ place down the street— 

Or to her. Like she did right after the shoot:  _ Seunghee-yah, let’s go eat something.  _ Or after vocal classes, where they would spend their rest days practicing cover songs:  _ Seunghee-yah, are you done? Seunghee-yah, my throat hurts. Seunghee-yah  _ — 

And there she is, staring up at the camera with a tangerine in her hand. There is a curiosity in her eyes, just like how the director had wanted her to portray. Her hair is in twin braids, because she refuses to bleach it anymore, even if it were for her darkened roots. Seunghee breathes in, slowly. They look good. She looks good. 

She sends it to Hyojung, in a moment of weakness. Types in a  _ you looked really pretty that day, too _ for good measure. And then, because she’s already knee-deep in her thoughts— 

_ I miss you _ . She hits send, and buries her phone underneath her pillow. Wipes away the useless tears that seep out, and drowns the rest of them in the still silence of the room. 

Her phone vibrates with a reply a few minutes later. Seunghee reaches blindly for it. Looks away from the ceiling. Swipes open the message, and:

_ I miss you too :( see you tomorrow!! _

The emptiness is still there. Seunghee thinks it feels further away than it had been before. There is an unexpected softness to her pillow as she presses her face into it, as her mind descends into yet another loop of Hyojung.

  
  
  


/

  
  


It happens quickly, in the way things do when they’re already cemented. Acceptance helps to reiterate the fact that there is nothing she can do, and Seunghee resigns herself to watching it unfold from the sidelines with a smile fixed in place.

The camera crew comes in the morning. Manager-oppa lets them in, and they set up the cameras quickly — just two or three in their shared room, for a short segment. Hyojung is on her way from the company, but it doesn’t matter, because the On and Off staff tells them that they’ll be back sometime in the afternoon to film the leaving scene. Packing takes time, anyway.

They wait in the living room. It’s just Yewon and her today, in the dorm. Unofficial rest days are hard to come by, despite them finishing promotions on music broadcasts, because aside from schedules, there is the expectation of them to always be doing something, and Seunghee knows Yewon and herself both hate doing nothing. It makes them anxious. But the younger girl is calm, today, and her lips are stretched a little too tight.

“Seunghee-unnie?” There’s a hand on her lap. Yewon is quiet and patient. “Are you sad?” 

The air in her lungs don’t move. It makes her wonder if time can, similarly, stand still if she simply wishes it to; if she wills it to, hard enough — maybe change wouldn’t be necessary. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so dramatic. It’s not like it’s the end of the world, or something. 

“No,” Seunghee raises her eyebrows. But she knows Yewon knows, from the way the younger girl tilts her head, unbelieving — she’s gotten better at reading between the lines and Seunghee isn’t sure if she wants to be picked apart right now. “I’m just sleepy.” 

Yewon nods. Pats her leg. “I am,” she muses out loud. “I’ll miss Hyojung-unnie. I can’t believe she’s really moving out.” 

At times like this Seunghee feels the difference between them. Age has made Yewon more forthcoming, while she herself struggles to express her thoughts. Maybe it came with the responsibility of having to always show the good side of herself, and since being an idol blurs the line between work and personal, somewhere along the way it became easier to hide behind some variation of happiness. But now, with Yewon opening up, Seunghee thinks she might, too.

“Me too,” she says. It’s easier to talk about things once they’re out in the open. Her heart weighs with the confession, but Yewon smiles at her and her eyes disappear slightly and she takes her hand and yeah, okay. Seunghee knows she’s definitely not alone. “It’s just — it was so sudden.”

“I know. But this is what she wants, right?” Yewon pokes her cheek. “I’m sad, but also happy she’s doing something she likes. She’ll be even happier if we’re supportive.”

Her heart has already sank, but it feels like something else is floating inside her chest. Nothing like a dash of rationality to chase her insanity away. “Of course,” Seunghee sighs. Swats the younger girl’s hand away. “I’ll support her either way. How could I not?”

“I know, unnie.” Yewon smiles. The ends of it are a little slanted. “I know.” 

They sit there, in silence, holding hands, until the door opens some time later. Hyojung’s loud voice booms through the entire apartment, announcing her entrance, and Seunghee can’t help but realise that this might be the last time the older girl’s presence could be felt in the dorm. But Yewon stands up excitedly, and pulls her up, too. The slant on the other girl’s smile is no longer there, and she knows she has to do her part, too— 

She takes a deep breath. Falls back on her idol personality, and pushes through with a smile of her own. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


They start packing almost immediately, shoving coat after coat into vacuum bags and compacting them as best as they can. 

None of them forget about the rolling cameras. Seunghee makes sure to drop a few witty comments here and there, and Yewon joins in whenever she teases Hyojung. Hyojung does something embarrassing, and they laugh. It’s a cycle. It’s noisy. A typical day in the dorm. 

“I won't be able to witness this kind of dorm chaos anymore,” Hyojung says it so dramatically. Her hands are on her face, part of that squishy aegyo thing she always does. Seunghee knows it's for the camera, but the words sting somehow, and her lips move in response before her brain catches up— 

“Wow.” She looks directly into the lens facing her. “Says the girl who signed a lease in three days.” It's a joke, of course, because the TMI she just shared will definitely be a topic of discussion in the studio during the broadcast filming, and it's all in the spirit of getting Hyojung more air time. 

There's a pause; long enough for Seunghee to feel Hyojung's gaze on her, and short enough for her to brush it off as something passing. 

“She's pretending to miss us already,” Yewon adds on quickly. Pouts for full effect, and the moment is over: Hyojung denies it shallowly, laughs loudly, and they resume packing. 

It turns out that Hyojung’s five-year dorm life as an idol can be quantified into two huge suitcases, and a life-sized teddy bear. The camera crew returns, for the send-off scene, and they ready themselves: Seunghee puts on a hat. Grabs the bag by the foot of her bed, before she forgets. Manager-oppa reminds the crew to not get too many shots of their bare faces, and to keep the focus on Hyojung.

The official shoot begins. It's relatively short. Everything about this happens faster than Seunghee expects, and she is powerless as she stands by the side of the car, with Yewon, as they watch Hyojung lift the last of her things into the trunk. The older girl groans, sighs, and announces loudly that it’s all done. 

This is it. The plastic bag in her hand is heavy. She calls for Hyojung. Gives it to her anyway. A random assortment of snacks she’d bought in the morning, just in case, you know. A farewell gift of sorts. But in no way does it hold a candle to the five-year companionship they have shared, and will continue to share — this is not the end. She knows, but it doesn’t stop her heart from sinking down at her own unwillingness to let go.

Yewon gives Hyojung a gift of her own, too. It's cute. She’s really grown into the maturity she carries around, although Seunghee knows Hyojung will argue that she’s still a baby, and will always be one. She’s not wrong. They exchange a few words, before one of the producers gives the signal to wrap up, and Hyojung puts an end to it. 

“This feeling is weird,” The older girl says. Seunghee feels herself being pulled into a hug, and Yewon joins in too. It is awkward and brief. They bid each other goodbye, with promises of calls and texts later.

The slam of the van door echoes in the carpark. It reverberates in her mind loudly, around the desperation to cling onto something that has already gone, and Seunghee feels Yewon’s arm looping through hers. They stand like that, watching Manager-oppa drive the van out, waving goodbye— 

She forgets about the cameras then. The van disappears into the exit, and there’s that. They call it a wrap. The crew packs up, and Seunghee and Yewon make sure to thank every single one of them, before heading back up to the dorm — like they always do after every schedule. It’s routine. Just that her body feels foreign now, in the apartment that she’s called home, away from her hometown.

Her feet feel like lead. She drags them slowly across the hallway, and into what is now her room: 

“Will you be okay?” Yewon calls, from the living room. The younger girl watches her. There is caution in her eyes, and Seunghee doesn’t have to look to know that Yewon already knows. 

“Of course,” she waves Yewon off. Shoots her a smile. Does her best to make it reach her own eyes, before closing the door. 

The room is painfully empty. Hyojung’s side of the room is clean, for once, with nothing to mark the time she’d spent here, other than the extra plastic wrappers she didn’t need. It’s quiet. The cameras are gone by now, and Seunghee thinks she can finally let her guard down. There is no one but herself, in a space that was much, much noisier— 

The loneliness hits. She stares at the emptied lower bunk, and sighs. Maybe she can do something with it, and all the extra space. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The room feels too big for one.

Seunghee spends most of her time on her bed, anyway — Hyojung used to take up most of the floor, with her things, and her youtube set up — maybe she’ll get the company to invest in an actual wardrobe. Or a desk. Anything, to fill the space up. To make it less empty.

She turns on VLive. It’s another lonely night, without Hyojung’s random commentary about anything under the sun, and her spontaneous late night snack orders. They’re still promoting their latest album, just not on music shows, and dieting is still a need — it’s a good thing, she guesses, amidst her drowning in the silence of the room. 

Communicating with fans is always fun. They’re so witty. Some of the comments are hilarious, and she reads them out quickly. She misses them dearly, it’s such a pity they didn't get to meet because of the virus. Promotions were done mostly with an empty audience, and the energy level was just… different. She reads more comments.

The fans know. They always know. They’re smarter than the company gives them credit for, and soon she sees comments asking about Hyojung’s departure from the dorm. The teaser for Hyojung’s episode of On and Off is already out, and it’s so easy to put two and two together.

“Did you guys watch the preview for On and Off?” Seunghee asks. Starts talks about the broadcast that should be airing sometime next week, and Hyojung’s independent living. The darkness in her room makes it easier to share her true feelings, and it comes out a little too easily. The fans deserve to know anyway. It’s not a big deal. Honesty is key in fan communication, and this isn’t that personal. 

Seunghee makes sure to smile, of course. Crinkles her eyes. She doesn’t want them to worry — the last thing she will do is burst out crying on a livestream. Her mind scrambles for something to grasp onto, because as much as she wants to be honest, too much of anything is never healthy. And in this case, there is a standard that they all have to hold themselves up to — to only show their best. 

“It’s empty,” she says. Looks around the room briefly, before returning to the comments. They’re getting faster and faster, but she manages to catch a few about the send-off scene in the preview, and that she looked sad in it. “That’s right.” Seunghee nods. Smiles wistfully. “I felt empty.” 

She watched the preview earlier — Shiah sent it to their group chat, along with an onslaught of congratulatory messages, and said that she wished she could have been there to send Hyojung off. Seunghee knows all of them would have if they could, because they’re practically family at this point, and nothing is more precious than a bond forged in the midst of a rigorous schedule they all follow, for the sake of their dreams. 

_ Sseungsseung looked so sad t____t ,  _ one of her other messages had said. It’s true. She herself was taken aback at how sad she had looked on screen. Maybe she should really stop wearing her heart on her sleeve. Or be more mindful of the cameras. It doesn’t look good on a five-year idol to be this transparent on camera. 

“What do you miss most about Hyojung-unnie?” Seunghee reads the question out loud. “Hyojung-unnie herself.” It’s also true. The words are coming out easier.  _ Honesty, _ she reminds herself. Honesty at the expense of nothing, but her own vulnerability.

“In the preview, I said I wanted Hyojung-unnie to hurry up and pack, and move out quickly,” she continues. “But actually, I felt empty.” Lets the silence fill her ears, for a bit. The comments are even faster now, and she tries to read them at a glance — catches words like  _ don’t be sad  _ and  _ unnie are you crying _ ?? and okay. Maybe it’s time to wrap up. 

She blinks away the hazy nostalgia. “But it’s a good thing.” She reassures the fans. Says that it’s unexpectedly healing, because living alone means more time for herself. Self-improvement. Reflection, and whatever else. 

“When the time comes, I’ll live independently, too.” It’s a hopeful note to end the live on, and she says her ending comments. Waves goodbye. Turns it off, before flopping down on her bed. It’s late, and she can feel the exhaustion creeping into her bones, but she doesn’t feel sleepy. Her eyes don’t leave the ceiling, and she stares at the blankness of it all—

It’s so, so empty. There’s no one to cause a ruckus right before she sleeps. It’s like something is missing. Something that she’s grown to expect to be there, every single day. Like a part of herself. A part of her life. But it is now that she realises she had absolutely no right to, because in no way does it belong to her — she cannot be selfish. 

She checks her phone. There are no messages from Hyojung. She wonders how the other girl is doing, in her newfound freedom, far, far away from where they still might have been, together— 

It’s for the best, she knows. It doesn’t stop her from feeling like she’d lost something she never should have had in the first place. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The night air is warm. Summer is creeping up, slowly, and none of them are ready for the incoming heat — Hyojung is still wearing a hoodie that looks too thick, and Seunghee only judges her for it. At least the other girl had the sense to not wear jeans.

“Stop it,” Hyojung glares. There’s no malice behind it, like always. “I forgot, okay?” 

“How does one forget about the weather?” Seunghee jibes. Rolls her eyes. But ends up laughing, because both of them know that she really did: It’s Hyojung, after all — she’s pretty sure all of them have given up, at some point in time, to try to understand how some things only seem to happen to the older girl.

They sit outside the convenience store, with a bag of snacks between them. There’s no one else, because it’s late — a year ago they would have already broken curfew at this time, but after a gradual build up of opinions and a particular hard push by Hyojung, their CEO had agreed to loosen the reins. 

She’s thankful, of course. The leader’s burden is heavy, and never easy. Finding neutral ground between what the members want and what is best for the team also requires a straightforwardness Seunghee knows she doesn’t have. And for that, alone, Hyojung deserves so much more.

“What?” Hyojung side-eyes her. The wrapper of her Melona bar remains half-opened. “Is there something on my face?” 

Seunghee shakes her head. Snaps out of it. “Why do you always think there’s something on your face if someone is looking at you?” Digs through the bag for another, and opens it effortlessly. “Can’t I be admiring how pretty you are?” 

Hyojung chokes. Seunghee doubles over in laughter. Her shoulders loosen. The stress underneath her shoulders seeps out fluidly. It’s easy, how they can go from an insane crying giggle to a comfortable silence in the blink of an eye. But it also stems from the familiarity of each other, she guesses — to know when to joke, and when to be serious; to know when to hold on, and when to let go. 

She bites into the bar. It's refreshingly cold. Seunghee doesn’t have the strength in her to care about the calories, not when they have a whole day’s worth of practice tomorrow, and the following day, through the entire week, and album recordings in between — it’s insane. Comeback preparation is always chaotic, but this time it’s different: no one says anything, but management has subtly hinted at some kind of higher expectation. It’s obvious in everyone’s faces. Even their CEO. She understands, of course — the feedback they’ve gotten after their Queendom stint points towards a more favourable outcome, but Seunghee hates how it translates into the dark circles under Hyojung’s eyes, or the smaller meals Mihyun makes sure to eat. 

“Seunghee-yah,” Hyojung calls, gentle as the night. The air around them thins. “Thank you.”

The hair on her arms stand. She turns to look at Hyojung, who is fixated on the streetlamp a few feet away from them. It is terribly corny, and Seunghee avoids the weight behind those words. Unpacking it requires energy she’s not sure she has, after a whole day of practice — so she makes a face. 

“What are you talking about?” Seunghee cringes. Says it loudly. Sprinkles it with her usual dramatics. “Don’t make me throw up, unnie.”

“I mean it,” Hyojung pouts. There’s a sheen of melona on her lips. It’s distracting. Seunghee wants to wipe it away. “Thank you, really.” Her eyes are illuminated with a strange wave of gratitude that threatens to spill over. She smiles, suddenly small. “Preparing for a comeback always makes me feel like we just debuted yesterday.” 

With age comes a nostalgia that strikes at the most random of times. Like now, when they’re sitting on the pavement curb, chowing down on sugary treats they usually regret the next day. Seunghee waits for the sigh that leaves Hyojung’s lips. It comes; a soft exhale of what could have been (they miss her, of course), and what has already been, and what will be— 

She swallows. “Yeah. It really makes you think about the past, huh?” Clears her throat. Scuffs the heel of her sneakers against the pavement. “It’s been five years, unnie.” Seunghee takes another bite of her melona bar. “That’s… long.” 

They’re lucky. Five years is a long time. The average lifespan for an idol group is somewhere there, and they’re already pushing the limit. But even then, it’s not like they have the time to stop and think about how far they’ve come — they only look forward, and run. Like most idols, they take what they can get. They’re grateful. 

“We’re actually seniors now,” The streetlight blurs out Hyojung’s frown. “People look up to us. Can you imagine?” She smacks her lips. They’re still sticky with melona. “Like that group we met during filming a few weeks ago.” 

Of course. Seunghee still thinks about it sometimes: how they had the chance to meet a  _ hoobae  _ group, and one of them had actually dreamt of being an idol  _ because  _ of them. Back when they were literally nothing. How grateful she had felt on set, how her emotions had gripped her by the throat. She remembers looking Hyojung in the eye, just then — and her tears had come, right there. 

She licks up the last bits of melona. “Yeah. Sometimes I still can’t believe it.” Shakes her head. It’s one of those things that teeters along the plausibility of this reality she knows she would have never experienced if not for the blood and sweat they’ve all poured into this shared dream of theirs. 

“Me too,” Hyojung purses her lips. Turns to meet her eyes, and smiles. “Thank you,” she repeats. “I mean it, Seunghee-yah. I wouldn’t have done it without you.” 

The words are no longer cringeworthy. It is a heartfelt reminder of how much they need each other, and Seunghee takes it in. Feels it thread through her spaces between her ribs, and around her heart. It ties itself into a ribbon that sits at the very top, an embellishment of Hyojung’s pretty words she knows she will never forget. No matter what. 

“Me too, unnie.” She says. Takes the older girl’s hand. “Me too.” It’s a spur of the moment thing, and the way the smile on Hyojung’s lips widen makes Seunghee feel like she’s being blanketed by a sudden wave of heat that doesn’t make her skin feel icky— 

It’s like home, she thinks. The home she’s found, away from  _ Chuncheon _ . It makes her less lonely.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


Hyojung’s apartment is tiny. It’s a cozy officetel, and definitely too small for seven. But they make it work, like they always do — the youngest three are on her bed, Shiah and Mihyun are lying on top of each other on the floor right next to it, and Seunghee finds herself sitting right by the kitchen cabinet, where Hyojung is.

They’re all stuffed. It’s a party after official comeback schedules. That means they all let go a little, and eat like there’s no tomorrow. There are no leftovers, and okay. Maybe she regrets that last slice of pizza. She doesn’t think she can stand up anytime soon, and the food coma is hitting hard— 

“Then sleep here,” Hyojung says, amidst the washing. Seunghee blinks up blearily. It’s either she’s hallucinating, or Hyojung has suddenly gained the ability to read minds— 

“Hyun Seunghee.” Her name is called, formalities and all. “I can’t read minds. Stop thinking out loud,” the older girl tuts. Places the last of the washed cups on the rack, and wipes her hands. “You didn’t even drink.”

That’s right. Alcohol and her are no longer friends, because it’s about time she starts to take care of herself the adult way. Seunghee spares the others a look— Shiah is definitely tipsy, with the way she demands to wrestle Mihyun, and the others won’t stop laughing at Mihyun trying to wriggle her way out of a deathgrip. This is the very essence of their team, and Seunghee will not have it any other way.

“I didn’t.” She nods. “I’m just. Sleepy.” Drags out the last syllable. Her head is heavy, and she leans back against the cupboards. “So sleepy.” 

“Sleep here,” Hyojung says it again, joining her on the floor. “You don’t have schedules tomorrow, right?” She checks her phone. It’s almost one, and it’s late — they shouldn’t keep the managers waiting. If this were the dorm, they’d probably stay up all night, like the good old days— 

But not anymore. 

“No,” Seunghee shakes her head. It rattles against the cupboards behind her. “It’s fine, they’re having fun.” She waves Hyojung off. Her hair is tied in a bun. She’s still wearing the apron from making the croffles earlier, and Seunghee thinks it’s a good look on her. Like a real housewife. A homeowner. A strong independent woman, capable of living alone.

“They miss you,” she continues. “I miss you, too. We all miss you, unnie.” Maybe she’s whining a little, now. The sleepiness fogging her mind switches off her filter, and Seunghee knows she’s just saying whatever: her feelings, from the bottom of her heart. It’s embarrassing. Maybe she’ll regret this in the morning.

Hyojung moves closer. Her shoulder is small, but soft and reliable, and since when did her head loll so much to the side? 

“Just sleep here, tonight.” The older girl whispers. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll text manager-oppa to pick the other girls up soon, okay?” Her phone is already lit, with the messaging app open, and— 

Oh. No.

“No.” Seunghee forces herself up. Blinks away the heaviness on her eyelids. “I can’t do that. This is your space, unnie. I’ll be fine— “

“You can, because I said so.” Hyojung’s voice is firm, with the warmth of a low ember that only draws her closer to sleep. “It's okay.” She catches Seunghee’s wrist, a soft reassurance that melts all her hesitance away a little too easily. It doesn’t take much convincing, because Seunghee is so, so tired, and she kind of really wants to just not move for the rest of the night. 

So she nods. Forgets about overstepping boundaries. Later, she will realise that it makes absolutely no sense, because picking up five girls and picking up six girls require the same number of cars, when they’re all supposed to go back to the dorm. But Manager-oppa doesn’t question it, and neither do the others, as they file out slowly and orderly as Hyojung hugs each and everyone of them. Nags at Mihyun to watch over the rest, as the second oldest— 

“Bye!” Seunghee waves from the floor. The tiles are cold. The door shuts, and the silence fills the void left behind by the members. It’s not that bad. It’s not uncomfortable, or stifling, or as empty as the hole Hyojung had left behind in their shared room. 

Something lands in front of her. It’s a toothbrush Seunghee recognises from Yewon’s farewell present to Hyojung, and laughs. “Where am I going to sleep?”

“On the bed?” Hyojung answers, from the bathroom. The apartment is small, but it feels like she’s still far away. Like there are five hundred miles between them. Like she left. But she did, Seunghee thinks. It’s nothing to be sad about. It’s part of growing up. 

So she washes up. Bumps elbows with Hyojung as they fight over the one sink, and watches Hyojung almost slip and fall over that one puddle of water. It’s like the good old days, and Seunghee knows that this is something that will not change. She is grateful. 

The bed is a tight fit. It’s so comfy. Hyojung smells like cotton, and Seunghee feels the sleep weighing down on her eyes. The light is still on. It gives Hyojung a weird halo glow that she is more than deserving, and Seunghee wishes that Hyojung could see it, too. 

“I miss you, unnie,” she says it, again, just as Hyojung flips off the light switch right by the bed. The darkness that envelops them makes everything transparent, and all of a sudden it’s like Hyojung announcing her moving out all over again. “Sometimes it’s so quiet, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, Seunghee-yah,” Hyojung whispers into the space between them. Her breath fans across Seunghee’s neck, a small apology against her pulse point. It calms her, but again, it makes no sense, because why should the older girl apologise for moving out? “I know you felt empty. I watched your vlive.” 

There are soft fingers tucking loose strands of her hair behind her ear, and Seunghee thinks the drowsiness sinks in a little more with every one of Hyojung’s touch. “I’ll visit more often, okay?” 

“Okay,” she thinks she grins. Her eyes are fully shut by now, and she’s not really sure what’s happening. But Hyojung is close enough for Seunghee to hear the small puffs of air she lets out, and it’s more than enough to lull her into the clutches of sleep. 

She gives in, slowly. Whispers  _ goodnight _ , like she’d used to all the time back in the dorms, and dreams of a cozy apartment that she will one day call hers, with a huge ass teddy bear that looks strangely just like the one Hyojung has. 

  
  
  


/

**Author's Note:**

> wish moonrise31 a happy birthday or else. muah


End file.
